


Love Constraining to Obedience

by KivrinEngle



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Magic, Curses, Foundlings, Gen, Henry Laurens' A+ Parenting, Human Disaster John Laurens, M/M, Soulmates, Urban Fantasy, slowest of burns, soulmates but it's not how it's supposed to go, tags to be added as I reveal things
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-06
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-17 21:01:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29231964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KivrinEngle/pseuds/KivrinEngle
Summary: For Alex Hamilton, life is good - far better than could ever have been expected for a foundling child with no magic, no family ties, and no place in society. Sure, he’s had to scratch and claw his way up, and he’s clinging to respectability and the hope of a decent future by his fingernails, but he’s managing all of it: a promising undergraduate career, a more-than-part-time job, and, for the first time in his life, an amazing group of friends. Now all that’s left is to find his soulmate - who seems to be hiding under his nose somewhere.For John Laurens, life is far more complicated. He has a curse to break, personal destruction to sidestep at every turn, and a would-be soulmate to avoid.Welcome to New York University’s School of Enchantment.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton & Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette, Alexander Hamilton & John Laurens, Alexander Hamilton & John Laurens & Gilbert du Motier Marquis de Lafayette & Hercules Mulligan, Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens
Comments: 53
Kudos: 57





	1. On the Nature of Enchantment

Alex loves New York in the fall. 

He’s been everywhere, more or less. Alex had frozen in Colorado while trying to track down a hedgewitch who could supposedly tell him his heritage, and had almost died of heatstroke in the Mohave Desert on an idiotic quest for some lizard scales that were meant to give you visions. He’d fostered with a nomadic family for a while when he was a kid, and they’d gone just about everywhere in the country, visiting eldritch sites and places of power, before they’d left him with Foundling Services and moved on. That had been cool while it lasted, though. He had even tried to leave the country when he was sixteen, tracing the vague hint that he’d come from somewhere in the West Indies. The hurricane that had sent him scurrying back to the mainland had been violent enough that even Alex Hamilton could take a hint. 

So yeah, he’s seen his fair share of places over the years. New York, though? It seems to fit him like a second skin, the noise and chaos of the place more soothing to his nerves than the emptiness of vast prairies or deserts had ever been. Even the smells make him feel at home, somehow. Not that he has anything like home to compare it to. Still. He’s on the right track, now. He can feel it. 

The weather is finally starting to change, the muggy heat of late summer fading into the cool, crisp mornings and evenings that put a spring in his step. Alex has been a student at New York University’s School of Enchantment for more than three weeks now. He’s learned where all the most important buildings are, argued his roommate into giving up the lower bunkbed, and secured himself a part-time job at the school’s Library of Enchantment. The library makes him sneeze horribly, but it’s a good, quiet job that gives him plenty of time to work on his studies between helping patrons and reshelving books. He’s even gotten (and recovered from) the bug that swept through the student population in the first fortnight, and now he’s pretty much gotten it all figured out. 

He’s up before five, booting up his laptop before he’s even started his first mug of coffee. From the upper bunk, Lafayette groans and rolls over, cursing him in fluent Elvish. 

“Not my fault,” Alex says immediately. “I warned you when we moved in that I was an early riser.”

“There is early riser, and then there is psychotic,” Lafayette mutters. He pulls a pillow over his head and goes back to sleep; Alex shrugs it off philosophically. Somehow, despite the early mornings and the cursing, he and Lafayette are friends already. He does not take it for granted.

And anyway, it isn’t his fault, not really. Alex has a twenty page paper due for Foundations of Magical Epistemology later that morning, and he hadn’t had time to finish it the night before. It’s not even that complicated - a basic literary proof, the first building block in what will eventually be a full-blown spell. Usually, it takes at least the first year to complete a spell. Alex is determined to do it in one semester. 

Enchantment, Alex always has known, is not for the faint-hearted. They’d warned potential students in every way they could. He knows the dropout rate is almost eighty percent before the end of the four-year program. It’s work - unending, grinding, demanding. 

It’s the most freeing thing he has ever known. 

He works for almost two hours before Lafayette begins to stretch and groan, and then, taking pity on his roommate, Alex shoves his work in his messenger bag and takes off for the library. Laf gets tired of hearing him pound the keys and mutter to himself, after a while. (Laf, it must be said, is sensible, and is not studying Enchantment. He’s in Magical Law, which is bad enough.)

It’s only a fifteen minute walk to the library, and Alex savors every minute of it. The morning is still fresh and clean-smelling, somehow, and the tips of the leaves are beginning to show traces of fall colors. He’s the first one there, of course. It’s one of the perks of working there.

Alex unlocks the doors and starts the morning routines, turning on the computers and checkout machines, making certain all the lights are on, still muttering through the lines of argument that will make up the remainder of his paper. Only three pages to go, but class is at ten; he’s got no time to waste. 

He almost trips over Meridian. 

The little orange cat meows at him as plaintively as though Alex had stepped on his tail, and goes darting off towards the door, leaving Alex gesturing at him in disbelief, his train of thought thrown off entirely. 

“Laurens!” Alex shouts, stomping after the cat. “Laurens, your damn cat just about killed me!”

He finds John Laurens collapsed in a chair behind the checkout desk, typing away as furiously as Alex had been for the past few hours. Laurens doesn’t seem to have heard him.

“Laurens, pay attention!” Alex snaps, throwing himself into the other chair. Laurens looks up, blinking in surprise. 

“What’s up, Hamilton?” Laurens asks, fixing him with such an intense stare that Alex immediately starts to recalculate. It’s possible that he didn’t need to be quite so dramatic. But, then, it’s becoming his stock in trade. It’s expected of him already. 

“Your cat,” Alex says, moderating his tone just a bit. “That thing deliberately tried to kill me.”

“Oh,” Laurens says. Meridian, who is honestly not much bigger than a kitten, has crawled into his lap and stares insolently at Alex, as if daring him to do something about it. “Sorry,” Laurens says, petting the cat absent-mindedly. “I didn’t realize he had followed me in.”

“He always follows you,” Alex mutters, more sullenly than he means to. The cat is gloating, he’s sure of it. “You aren’t even supposed to have animals in here, you know.”

“I didn’t bring him in,” Laurens insists. He looks about as stressed as Alex feels at the moment, and bends over to put Meridian gently on the floor, urging him away. Meridian does not move. “He just kind of turns up.”

“Uh-huh,” Alex mutters. He grabs his own computer, feeling the minutes ticking away. “Whatever. I hope we don’t get too many people in here this morning. Still have three pages to go on this.”

“Epistemology?” Laurens asks, still watching him intently. Alex nods, trying to remember where he had been in his proof. Third major argument, fourth support. He’s back in. 

“Yeah,” Alex says vaguely. “You?”

“I’m almost finished,” Laurens says, turning back to his own work as Alex looks away. “Took me all night, though.”

“We can sleep when we’re licensed Enchanters,” Alex says. It’s a common saying among the students - more of a joke for freshmen, but he’s seen how the seniors look. It’s not so funny for them. 

They work silently for a while, both bent over their work. Alex has already found, after only a week or so, that Laurens is not the worst coworker in the world. He knows when to keep his mouth closed, and they can work side-by-side without distracting one another. Alex finishes first, checks through his work for mistakes or typos, runs through the arguments for logical soundness and magical effectiveness, and decides it’s good enough.

He’s rewriting the world, in just the tiniest way, Alex thinks as he’s printing out the paper on the library printers and affixing his signature. He feels just a little bit more go out of him, on top of the exhaustion that bends his shoulders and burns in his eyes. There’s a cost to magic - not in the way that most people think, of course. People think magic is all flash and show, waving of wands or chanting nonsense - but that’s because they don’t bother to understand the process. It’s work, word by word, reshaping reality, convincing the world to rewrite itself in accordance with the will of the enchanter. Shaping a new spell is as much work as creating anything else worth having, and the enchanter pays for it in time and effort and energy. 

This little thing he’s written won’t do anything, not on it’s own. It’s just a first step, the construction of a framework that he’ll learn to build upon. Someday, Alex will be able to shape the world. He’ll write a place for himself in it, and no-one will be able to question it or take it away from him. 

Laurens finishes his work as well, giving a huff of exhaustion as he signs his paper, imbuing it with his own energy. Alex gives him a wry look of satisfaction as he tucks it away into his own bag, which is considerably neater than Alex’s. 

“I hate this,” Laurens says conversationally. His hair is as wild as Alex has ever seen it, and he doesn’t even seem to notice that Meridian has crept up onto his shoulders and is perching there like a fuzzy orange bird. 

“Which part?” Alex asks. He glances at the stack of books that need to be shelved, and decides they can wait until after class. Half of them are his, anyway. 

“All of it,” Laurens says, and collapses face-down onto his arms on the desk. Meridian kneads the back of his neck with little paws and purrs gently. 

“With that sort of precision of language, I can see why you’ve taken up the study of Enchantment,” Alex says, laughing at him a little. 

Their cohort of incoming students isn’t huge - fewer than thirty of them, and they tend to group together, even after a short time of acquaintance. He doesn’t know Laurens well, but they’re spending a bit of time together, given their shared library work. They’re not at a point where they discuss personal matters yet; Alex is confident they will be, though. He’s got a good feeling about Laurens, even if he’s - well. 

He glances at his own left forearm. The soulmark is there, of course, shimmering multi-colored patterns of magic that flare just below the skin like his own Aurora Borealis. It’s the one thing he’s seen, throughout all the indignities and injustices of his life, as a sign that he is still one of the fortunate souls in the world. Not everyone is blessed with a soulmark; not everyone has a soulmate out there to be found, a pattern inked in another skin that matches one’s own in every motion and color. 

Laurens doesn’t have one.

He’s never said anything about it, of course - no-one does, if they’re unmarked. It’s uncouth, verging on obscene, to talk about the marks with those who are unmarked; bad enough to know from birth that you have no soulmate, worse to rub salt into the wound by talking about it. Laurens wears sleeves that cover both arms down to the wrists, as all the unmarked do. 

Alex doesn’t pity him, of course. He has no business pitying anyone, and he would hate to be the recipient of the pity of others if they knew what he had been through in the first eighteen years of his life. 

“I’ll be eloquent and verbose when I’ve gotten some sleep,” Laurens promises, not moving from his face-down position. “For now, just let me die in peace. I had no idea how draining even these basic proofs would be. How are we ever meant to do major magic?”

“But it isn’t all bad,” Alex protests. He swings his feet up onto the desk, stretching back to recline in his chair. “The feeling of power in it - isn’t that worth it all? Knowing that what we’re doing is the start of everything?”

“No,” Laurens says flatly. He doesn’t move. “It’s all terrible.”

“Stop complaining,” Alex drawls. Laurens turns to look at him without picking his head up, and makes a face. Meridian turns to look at Alex accusingly. “You should be grateful to be here, Laurens, as hard as we had to work to get in.”

Laurens doesn’t bother to reply. He wrinkles his nose at Alex in disgust and gets up, packing his things neatly into his bag. “Come on. We’ve got Foundations in twenty minutes, and I need coffee first.”

Alex complies, but he’s curious now - always a dangerous proposition. “So why are you here, Laurens, if you hate the whole thing so much?” Laurens shrugs, and Alex’s curiosity ticks a little higher. “Come on, tell me!” he coaxes. 

Laurens doesn’t turn to look at him, but Alex can see his shoulders go stiff; he speaks without turning, in a very flat voice. “My father,” he says, and makes for the door. 

Well. Question answered, Alex supposes. He shrugs and picks up his bag, following along, and trips headlong over Meridian, stumbling back into his chair to avoid a harder fall. The little monster had just been sitting there waiting for him, and gives Alex a look of satisfaction as he turns and trots after Laurens, leaving Alex out of sorts. 

~~~~~

Foundations of Magical Epistemology is a two hour class, three days a week. Alex could honestly live there forever. He sits on the edge of his seat, mind humming with ideas and questions as Franklin lectures, hand barely able to keep up as he struggles to capture every idea. 

Laurens is somewhere a few seats behind him; Alex didn’t pay much attention to where anyone else was sitting on their first day, and now their seating choices are pretty much set in stone. Somewhere at the back of the room, someone is snoring gently. Franklin looks at Alex over the top of his glasses as he lectures, making eye contact with one of the few students as interested in his material as he is. 

“The nature of magic,” he says ponderously, and points to the board behind him, pressing his palm against one corner of it and sending scrawling chalked notes and diagrams swirling across the surface. He doesn’t even blink at the expenditure of energy it takes to cast the spell, even though Alex knows it must be many times the cost of the little paper he himself had written that morning. This is an old spell, of course, one that Franklin has worked dozens of times or more; it does not have to be reworked every time, but it still exerts a cost. “It is a matter of great debate for those in society who have no wish to actually understand it.”

“How do you mean?” Angelica Schuyler asks, watching Franklin intently. “Aren’t they trying to understand?”

“Of course not,” Franklin snaps. His reputation as an old curmudgeon is based on this, on how he lectures, but Alex has talked to him one-on-one and knows he’s far kinder than he chooses to show himself. “If they wished to truly understand, they would do as you are doing. They would dedicate themselves to it, body and mind. They would learn it from the ground up, until it was a part of their very being. They would become Enchanters.” He scoffs. “But the work is too challenging for most, and the rewards too meagre. There are few who can walk the path of knowledge. Many of you never will, though you have begun it.” He looks over them, as though seeking out the unworthy already. 

“What happens if we don’t?” someone asks from behind Alex. He thinks it’s Seabury, but he’s not about to turn around and look. “If we drop out?”

“When you drop out,” Franklin says, with the slightest emphasis on the first word, “You will be no better than those who expose their ignorance with every word they speak on the subject. Nor will you be any worse. But the secrets of magic will not come to you.”

“But,” Jefferson objects. There’s a susurrus of murmured groans throughout the classroom. Jefferson loves the sound of his own voice. “What about the hedgewizards and witches, and the minor sorcerers? There are plenty of magic-users who never complete a university education, aren’t there?”

“Magic-users,” Franklin says, looking slightly scornful. “Mere tinkerers, my boy. Children playing with fire that they do not understand, and burning themselves more often than not. Oh, certainly, one may go to them for help with a toothache, or a lost item, and perhaps they will be helped - but it is a matter of chance, rather than skill or knowledge. Moreover,” he continues, pacing back and forth before the class, his heavy cane hitting the floor sharply with each pace, “You will, of course, be aware that any magic they do is strictly unlicensed, unrecorded, and not guaranteed by any magical body. It would be a desperate act indeed to rely on such dabblers for anything but the most frivolous tasks.”

“Sir?” It’s Laurens, who never speaks in class; Alex is slightly interested. “Is it true, then, that all major magical workings are recorded in the books?”

“All that are done by licensed Enchanters,” Franklin clarifies. “Just as the work of all qualified professionals leaves a trail. Why, you would not find a surgeon operating on a patient without producing records of the surgery, its intent and conclusion, would you? Why should an Enchanter be held to any lesser standard?”

“So then,” Laurens presses on, “If a major working has been done, and there are no records, is it a certainty that it was done by one of these unlicensed - uh, dabblers, as you called them?”

“Find me the backyard tinkerer who can successfully argue the universe into a major magical working and I will take my hat off to you,” Franklin says acerbically.

“What about nonhumans, though?” Alex finds himself asking. Franklin glances at the board, as if in despair at the unplanned diversion his class is taking from the material at hand, but Alex suddenly needs to know. “Aren’t they capable of major magic without our formal education?”

“This is precisely the matter I am attempting to lecture on,” Franklin says. He points to his board again. “If you force me to put this so bluntly, I will do so. We humans are remarkably pedestrian creatures. We do not have the innate magical capacity of fae creatures, nor the gifts associated with the half-human races. But,” he says, nodding his silver head sagely. “What we have is, perhaps, more valuable. There is no human who is incapable of magic.”

“But you said,” Jefferson starts, and Franklin waves him to silence. 

“I spoke of those who give up on their learning,” he says sharply. “Every human willing to do the work is capable of becoming an Enchanter, when they understand magic and know how to use it. We do not need the inconsistent talents of the other species.”

“A far more egalitarian state of affairs,” Alex murmurs. He gives Franklin a little grin. “Still, sir, I can’t say I don’t sometime wish there were an easier way. Upload it all to the cloud and then download it directly into our heads, maybe.”

Franklin looks distinctly unimpressed - but there’s a sudden, slight tinge of warmth in Alex’s soulmark. His eyes fall on it immediately; he always wears a half-sleeve on the left, of course, as is common courtesy, leaving the soulmark visible. 

It’s glowing. Not crazily - it would barely be perceptible to anyone who hadn’t spent every day looking at it, memorizing the patterns and shape of the thing, but there’s absolutely a faint glow. It’s never happened before, but Alex has educated himself, and knows what it means. His soulmate, whoever they are, is close by - and is thinking of Alex fondly. 

It’s all he can do not to jump up and wave his arm around, or dash around the room comparing it to everyone else there, examining the minute differences until he finds the one that is the exact match of his own. The reality of the thing is suddenly upon him. 

He’s always known he had a soulmate, but the idea of it had been so vague and nebulous that it was easy to dismiss. Now, though, he’s almost certainly in the same room with the person most particularly suited to him, and he to them, and they’re a real person, an Enchantment student just like Alex is. It’s enough to take his breath away. 

He gets almost nothing from the last hour of class. He’s so distracted by the problem of the soulmate that he misses the rest of Franklin’s lecture, and he’s definitely going to have to ask someone else for class notes, because he can’t afford to fall behind. He wants to make a list of all the people in the class and start checking them one by one, until he tracks down his soulmate.

It’s about the least romantic way anyone could possibly go about the thing, and Alex knows well enough from his research that it’s absolutely the wrong way to go about things. Whoever his soulmate is, they’re only starting to form a tentative bond. He has to give it time, to allow the magic of the soulmarks to draw them together until the time is right. 

Too bad Alex is really, really impatient, then. 

Thirty classmates, give or take. Maybe three of them, like Laurens, are the unfortunate unmarked, and he can discount them at once. The rest - well. Alex is going to have to do what he does best. He needs to get to work.


	2. On Human Relations

It’s noon by the time class is over, and the afternoon stretches out before Alex with the promise of actual free time - an almost unheard-of luxury. He hasn’t got class again until Magical Law for Practitioners that evening, isn’t due back in the library until the next morning, and is almost caught up on classwork. 

“Lunch?” Alex says brightly, turning to look around at his fellow would-be Enchanters. There’s a chorus of agreement, which quickly turns into good-natured arguments over where they ought to eat. Alex allows them to settle into groups while he packs his bag, and then takes a moment to think. He needs to be strategic about this. 

His soulmark has gone back to normal, now, but he cannot forget the excitement of feeling it begin to awaken. Having now established that his soulmate is among this group, he now needs to approach the situation diplomatically and with great care. 

Angelica Schuyler, he thinks, and he knows he must be right. Three weeks working side-by-side with this group and Alex has found a number of students he considers almost his equals, in terms of ability, dedication, or sheer bloody-mindedness. Angelica is the only one who meets or excels his level in all of those fields. He wastes a minute mourning his lack of dedication to his appearance that morning, and then insinuates himself into the lunch group that Angelica has joined. It’s got to be her. There’s no one else who can match him. 

About ten of them head out together, making their way back to Paracelsus Hall amid friendly conversation. Jefferson is there, putting forth his own particular views on the subject of magic among non-humans, though only his particular friend Madison seems to be listening. Reynolds is holding all of Angelica’s attention; the two young women hardly seem to notice anyone else is following them, lost in conversation. Alex notices that John Laurens is among them only when his damned cat nearly gets Alex hit by a car crossing a street; he has eyes only for Angelica at the moment. She’s definitely soulmarked, Alex notes with delight; her right arm is bare to the elbow, but he isn’t close enough to make out the details of her pattern. Still, a step in the right direction.

He flags down Lafayette as they wander back into Paracelsus, grabbing his roommate by the arm and dragging him along to the little dining hall at the heart of their home. 

“You’re eating with us,” Alex says, and Laf raises an eyebrow.

“I have just finished eating,” he says, his words tinged with the Elvish accent that Alex can never, ever wrap his own voice around. He reminds himself to get that story from Laf one of these days, but doesn’t let him off the hook.

“Like you’d say no to eating again! All that energy requires sustenance.” Laf doesn’t agree, but he comes along with Alex’s encouragement; he may be rolling his eyes, but Alex can easily pretend not to notice. “I need your help. You’re legally required to assist, as my roommate.”

“Which of us is studying Magical Law?” Laf asks, and Alex waves him off. 

“Roommate law. It’s far more obscure; you’d better defer to my knowledge. Anyway, you’ll want to help! I’ve got a soulmate to find!”

“Ahh,” Laf says. He doesn’t sound nearly excited enough about the prospect. “What has brought on this enthusiasm?”

“Felt it kick in,” Alex says, showing Laf his arm, though now his mark has gone back to it’s normal, dull state. “Narrows down the field considerably. I think it’s Angelica.”

“That would be just your luck, wouldn’t it?” Laf asks. “Not only to have a soulmate, and one so very directly under your nose, but one with the social connections and prestige of a Schuyler?”

“Are they?” Alex asks, suddenly losing some of his enthusiasm. He doesn’t know these things, and he should, in order to function in society - but he didn’t grow up running in these circles, and he doesn’t know the old families by their reputations. Not yet, anyway; he’s learning fast. 

Laf nods soberly. “Her father sits on the board of the School of Enchantment.”

Alex gives a low whistle, steering them a little closer to Angelica as they get in line for lunch. The food isn’t great, but it’s damn convenient. Alex would be happy to eat all his meals right in Paracelsus, close enough to his dorm room to get back to work with little delay. 

They’re a world unto themselves in the School of Enchantment, and Laf’s information only serves to make Alex more aware of it. They live together in one residence hall, supervised by the senior Faculty in Residence who dwell with them, and it’s entirely possible to go days at a time without interacting with someone outside the School in any significant way. It’s not encouraged, of course. The School is set in the heart of New York City for a reason. There’s no good to be found in Enchanters setting themselves apart from the rest of humanity

Today’s lunch seems to be something resembling soup. Jefferson complains loudly about the cuisine, but Alex has eaten a lot worse, and a whole lot less, and is grateful for hot, sustaining meals. He elbows Madison viciously, and manages to get himself and Laf sitting at the same table with Angelica, though at the far end. Reynolds is still holding her attention, but Alex knows he just needs a few moments to devise a topic clever enough to attract Angelica’s attention, and then he can put his plan in motion. 

It’s not much of a plan, to be honest, as he’s forced to admit to Laf in an undertone. Mostly, he needs to get close enough to look at Angelica’s soulmark; failing that, he needs to try to bring on another of those flashes of interest from her that would set his mark glowing again. 

He’s not successful in bringing up anything of interest before Jefferson beats him to the punch. Despite being a table away, he manages to attract everyone’s attention as he looks around theatrically. 

“I have to ask,” he says, as though it’s weighing on him. “After what old Franklin said, I’m burning with curiosity to see it. Who among us will be first to drop out?”

“It’s been three weeks, Thomas,” Angelica says flatly, fixing him with an unimpressed stare. “I think it’ll take a bit longer than that to see anyone give up.”

“Want to lay odds on it?” Jefferson asks, eyes dancing with mischief. “My money is on Seabury, under six weeks.”

“Seabury earned his place here just like the rest of us,” Angelica counters. “You’re only going to make problems, you know.”

“You say problems,” Jefferson says, grinning. “I say opportunities.”

Madison murmurs something too quietly for the rest of them to hear, and Jefferson roars with laughter, clapping his friend on the back. 

“Hear that, Laurens?” Jefferson calls. “Madison thinks you’re up first.”

“Madison is welcome to his opinion,” Laurens says, courteously enough. 

“And what’s your opinion?” Jefferson presses, with a slightly strange intensity. He must really be hurting for cash if he’s this eager to bring in wagers. “Tell us, Laurens. Who’s going to be first?”

Laurens watches Jefferson for a long moment, and Alex can almost feel tension building in the air, an almost electric feeling as the moment stretches out in silence. He can’t put a finger on what, exactly, is so odd about the moment, except that Laurens looks like he’s fighting some major internal battle over whether to answer, and Jefferson is watching him, unblinking. 

“Not interested,” Laurens says after a moment, voice oddly strangled, and Alex feels the tension snap. Jefferson opens his mouth to speak again, and then jerks suddenly and curses, looking under the table. Alex isn’t sure, but he thinks he sees a fluffy orange blur dart from beneath Jefferson’s table, and he hides a smile behind his napkin. 

“What is it Professor Franklin said that has caused so much consternation?” Laf asks. Alex shrugs, still working on his soup.

“Nothing new. He pointed out that most of us won’t make it through the course. Everyone knows that, going in. We’re only here because we’re all conceited enough to think that we’re the exception to the rule.”

“And this is why I am in Magical Law,” Laf says placidly. “You lunatics may keep your reams of paper and irresponsible sleep schedules to yourselves. I intend to graduate with my sanity intact.”

“Easy to say when you’ve got sanity to begin with,” Alex says, shoving Laf companionably with a shoulder, and feeling a little thrill of joy as Laf laughs and shoves him back. It’s still a new feeling to him, having friends - real ones, not just other people who have been caught up with him in the same temporary situation due to Foundling Affairs’ meddling. He likes Laf, a great deal, and the fact that Laf seems to like him back is unendingly amazing. 

He’s almost done with his lunch when he feels the unmistakable pressure of eyes on him, watching his every move. It only takes a minute to locate the culprit. 

“Laurens, control your beast,” Alex whines. Meridian is staring at him with unblinking green eyes from a comfortable-looking position atop Laurens’ curly hair. Laurens is, to all appearances, asleep, with his head on his arms in front of his untouched lunch. Not everyone has Alex’s ability to handle a night without sleep, he knows, but it’s still no excuse for allowing a cat to stare at him. 

Laurens doesn’t respond at all, but he does reach up and gently scoop Meridian down into his lap.

“Can I put money on myself as first to drop out?” Reynolds asks the group at large, pouting prettily at Jefferson when he turns his full attention on her. “I’m already behind for the next three days, and I have no idea what we’re meant to have read for Nelson tonight.”

“Case study,” Laurens says, not moving a muscle. “Simons vs Wallenda. It’s the one on using magic to obtain payment for spells already cast.”

A few groans go up around the table, and Alex knows Reynolds isn’t the only one who hasn’t done the reading. 

“Study group,” Angelica declares firmly, and there’s no gainsaying her. “Anyone who hasn’t finished prepping for tonight, meet in the common room in ten minutes. Nelson’s not going to have any reason to shout at us tonight.”

Professor Nelson, a man with such an impossible resemblance to a horse that it seems almost unbelievable that he isn’t some strange centaur variant, has never gotten over his participation in the war. He bellows and shouts orders like a drill sergeant, marching up and down the rows of seats looking for Elvish trickery or, failing that, anyone who looks like they might be falling asleep. He’s mastered a little spell that flicks the offender in the ear, waking up the weariest souls. For a moment, Alex hesitates, caught between Angelica’s study group and following Laurens’ stellar example. The urge to try to get closer to Angelica wins out, of course, and he wastes no time in dealing with his dishes and checking to see that he has his course readings in his bag.

“Am I dismissed now, or must I accompany you to all of your appointments for the day?” Laf asks. Alex grins sheepishly. 

“You can go,” he says. “I’m starting to think it’s going to take pulling Reynolds away bodily for me to have any chance at speaking to Angelica.”

“Keep up the faith,” Laf says, patting him encouragingly on the back. “Give her a chance to be amazed by your brilliance.” He leaves, like the rest of the group, and Alex finishes repacking his messenger bag with only the slumbering corpse of Laurens and his demonic cat to keep him company.

He hesitates on the way out the door. “Laurens?” Alex asks quietly. 

“That’s me,” Laurens says. Alex rolls his eyes. 

“Coming? It’s a fascinating case.”

“I know,” Laurens says. It’s interesting: Alex has never before heard someone able to make two words convey such a depth of horrified loathing. “Have you looked at who represented Simons?”

Alex scrambles for his case reading again, and takes a moment to locate the name. “Henry Laurens,” he says. “Relative?”

“Father,” Laurens says, still unmoving. “I know this one inside and out, so I think I’ll take the opportunity to catch up on a bit of sleep, if it can be managed.” He sits up at last, face flushed and hair wild, and looks at Alex thoughtfully. “You know of anywhere to sleep around here?”

“What about your room?” Alex suggests. Laurens winces. 

“I’ve got this roommate,” he says. “Charles Lee.” Alex winces, too. Lee is already a known (and detestable) quantity among their little cohort. He’s in Magical Law rather than Enchantment, and Laf rails about him at length. “He can make it rather difficult.” That, Alex can believe. 

“Practice rooms,” Alex says quietly. Laurens looks at him, surprised. “Down in the basement. How does no-one know about these except me? They’re for spellcasting practice for the upperclassmen, but no-one ever uses them. Soundproofed and magic-proofed. You should be able to find some quiet there, at least.”

“Thanks,” Laurens says, sounding genuinely relieved. He gives Alex a crooked sort of smile. “Don’t worry - I won’t tell everyone, either. Sometimes it’s good to have a place to go to get away.”

He wanders off, yawning, and Alex scans over the case study with increased interest as he makes his way to the common room. He hadn’t known Laurens’ father was involved in magical law. It should make for interesting reading and discussion for the evening, at the very least.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys. I do so love and adore you. Thank you for welcoming this strange, strange little baby of a story that has no idea yet what it's going to be when it grows up and making it so comfortable here! 
> 
> To be honest, I've done so much world-building for this one already that it's starting to feel comfortable to work in, but my plotting is very...nebulous, so far. Yeah. We'll go with nebulous. I'm not sure yet about all the places it wants to go, so it's going to be an adventure! Should be fun! Thank you all so very much, and please keep reading, keep commenting, and keep being utterly wonderful souls! - Kivrin


	3. Of Limitations

By the time they get to their seminar that evening, Alex is a twitchy bundle of annoyance. 

Despite all of his best efforts all through their study session (and subsequent friendly hanging-around-and-chatting), he had been entirely unable to either see Angelica’s soulmark in sufficient detail to prove his theory or to impress her enough with his wit and cleverness to spark another surge of interest in his own soulmark. Since Alex had, of course, already done the assigned class reading, the afternoon is feeling like a bit of a missed opportunity. Still. At least he’s caffeinated, prepared for class, and ready to talk circles around everyone else in seminar. There’s more than one way to impress a hidden soulmate.

Magical Law for Practitioners is one of those classes that should be absolutely grim. It’s a three hour seminar on a Wednesday night, dealing with the basics of the laws that will most directly impact them when they are Enchanters. Alex thinks melodramatically that it is very likely students have died before simply from boredom at the assigned class readings. 

The experience of class, however, is another matter entirely. 

Nelson is already waiting impatiently as Alex’s group of study buddies make it to their seats, even though it’s still five minutes until classtime. They’ve all learned very quickly not to be late. The professor’s foot is tapping impatiently on the floor. Alex, with incredible subtlety, checks again to see that it is a foot and not a hoof. Still a foot. Nelson is a huge, burly man with grey-streaked hair in a long ponytail down his back. He’s so covered with magic marks that it’s difficult to tell what his skin color might once have been.

“All here, hey?” Nelson snorts, marching to the front of the room. “Let’s get to it, then. Simons vs Wallenda. Ten years ago. Don’t suppose any of you whippersnappers would have been paying attention to the field at that point.”

From a seat to Alex’s left, he hears a tiny, gentle snort of amusement, and knows it’s Laurens. 

“Who can tell me the significance of this case, hey?” Nelson bellows, glaring at the rows of students with one eye, head turned suspiciously to the side. 

Alex’s hand shoots up, and Nelson flares his nostrils in acknowledgement. “Established the precedent for protection of non-magic users in the case of disputes over payment,” he recites quickly. “Simons’ use of magic to compel payment from Wallenda over an unsatisfactory spell violated the Fair Use doctrine.”

There’s another laugh from Laurens, but this time it doesn’t sound amused. “That’s an awfully bloodless way to put it,” he says. Alex turns to look at him, and Laurens shrugs, looking annoyed. “Fair Use doctrine? Simons tortured that man. The spell hadn’t worked in the first place.”

“Beside the point!” Nelson says sharply. Laurens looks quietly rebellious. “The question was never about the efficacy of the spell, hmmm? Wallenda’s results were extraneous to the matter of payment!”

“Simons had done the work to produce the spell,” Jefferson agrees, voice redolent with the satisfaction of being in agreement with the professor. “Why should he care if his client liked the results or not? He deserved to be compensated for his time, effort, and magical expenditure.”

“The law didn’t disagree on that point,” Angelica points out, frowning at Jefferson. “Simons would have been well within his rights to seek payment for his work, even taking Wallenda to court over it.” 

Seabury, in the seat ahead of Alex, flips furiously through pages of legal text, distress obvious in the set of his shoulders. “Then,” he starts, already sounding hopeless. “I don’t understand the issue. Why did Simons lose the case, if he’d done the work and Wallenda owed him the money anyway?”

“It wasn’t about the money,” Laurens says, voice beginning to rise. “It was immoral, and illegal, for Simons to use magic that way - against someone who couldn’t defend himself! Wallenda had no magical training, no ability to recognize that he was being cursed. Simons made the ground beneath him white-hot with every step he took, and Wallenda had no recourse -”

“Beside the point!” Nelson snorts again. “This is a course on law, Laurens, not morality. We are interested here in the implications for all of you as Enchanters, not as moralists or philosophers.” 

“So this case,” Reynolds starts uncertainly. Angelica nods at her, and she continues. “This set the standards against vengeful use of magic against non-magic users, right?”

“Isn’t that what I said from the beginning?” Alex mutters, but he keeps it quiet. 

“No!” Nelson bellows. They all flinch back a little. “You don’t know the first thing about magic, hey? What do they teach in the schools these days?”

“Algebra,” Seabury says disconsolately. Nelson ignores him.

“Half of magic is precisely that, hmmm?” Nelson says, going red in the face, and yanking up his left sleeve. “Look at this!” 

The marks of magic crawl across his skin like ocean waves made of twisting threads of color and motion, covering his arm from wrist to elbow. Despite himself, Alex gasps in shock. For a working to leave a mark like that, it must have been something incredibly powerful. 

“Know what that is?” Nelson says, his voice now quiet and dangerously controlled. “That’s half an army whisked out of existence - removed to the other side of the globe. That’s magic used in vengeance and anger, young lady, against non-magic users.” He looks around the room, making eye contact with all of them. No-one dares to speak. Finally, he lets his sleeve drop and backs away, still watching them all. “You live in privileged times. No-one is trying to wipe you out for practicing magic, or enslave you for the betterment of their world. But you’d damn well better believe that they’ll have you in court in a heartbeat if you break any of their rules.” He thumps the papers on his lectern, as if Simons and Wallenda were there to receive the brunt of his wrath.

“It’s bullshit,” Jefferson objects. “Any half-decent magical lawyer should have been able to get Simons off.” He shoots a nasty look at Laurens.

“Any half-decent human being should have had enough decency not to try,” Laurens fires back. “He lost on the merits of the case, not because of any conspiracy to deprive Enchanters of their rights! Using magic against those with no ability to protect themselves-”

“Shut it,” Nelson growls. Laurens’ mouth snaps shut with an audible click of teeth, and he glares at their intimidating professor with an impressive lack of apprehension. From beneath his desk, Alex sees the sudden flicker of an orange tail, lashing angrily back and forth. “We’re not wasting time on moralizing. We’re here to look at what this means for your own magic.” He waves his hands vaguely at all of them. “Break into groups. We’re going to explore the ways this ruling impacts what you can and cannot do.”

Alex winds up in a group with Seabury (gods help him), Laurens, Reynolds, and Angelica, looking over a theoretical case, with Nelson pacing around the room listening in to one group after another. He skims the reading quickly, then leans over to whisper to Laurens, “You’d better control your cat. If he attacks Nelson, we’re going to have more to worry about than theoretical lawsuits.” Laurens glares at him, which Alex thinks is very unfair, but he does drop a hand down to ruffle Meridian’s ears, and the thrashing tail calms a little. 

Their case is stupid on every front - one of those things clearly written for class discussions rather than based in reality - and Alex gets bored very quickly. Seabury is lost, Laurens is sulking, and Angelica and Reynolds (Alex has really got to learn people’s first names at some point) are deep enough in discussion that he’s not sure either of them remembers they’re in a larger group. The one benefit of the arrangement, however, is the close proximity. He judges his moment and carefully lets his pen roll away to hit the floor by Angelica. It only takes a moment - she picks it up and extends it to him, putting her soulmate mark into full view.

It doesn’t match. 

Alex takes the pen with a word of thanks, feeling oddly bereft. It isn’t as though he’d deserved to have his first choice be his soulmate, or course, or even that he has such a deep and powerful connection with her as to make it a source of heartbreak. It is a blow, though. He wants class to be over now. He’s ready to crawl into bed, for once.

By the time they’ve all discussed their stupid fake cases as a group, and then as a class, Alex’s stomach is growling, the caffeine is long gone from his system, and he’s at a loss as to how someone could have scheduled a three hour class for this time in the evening. The one positive, though, is that Nelson has recovered from his earlier annoyance and is back to his usual snorting, glowering sort of intensity. 

Half an hour before the end of class, just when Alex is starting to hope that maybe they’ll end early for once, Laurens puts up his hand. Nelson nods. 

“Can I ask a question, sir?” he says. Nelson flares his nostrils, which they’ve all come to understand, and Laurens goes on. “Marks like yours - from magical workings. Can they be used to trace back to the caster of the spell?”

“Like they did with Simons, you mean?” Nelson asks. Laurens wrinkles his nose. 

“But they didn’t, did they? There was direct evidence that linked him to the curse. I mean, in a case where all you had was the curse mark on a - a victim - could that be traced backward, to find who had cast it in the first place?”

“Curse marks are very different from the marks of magical workings, hey?” Nelson says severely. “More a bruise, less a record. Show me a magical working and I can do a great deal with it. Curse marks, though? Useless, legally speaking, except to show harm has been done, and that the source is magical.”

Laurens nods slowly, looking thoughtful, but the damage is done. Nelson is off on a tangent, building up to a fine rant on the uses of magical markings in the practice of law and the cases he’s seen built on evidence worked into the skin of the caster. They don’t get out until ten minutes past nine. 

It’s too late for dinner at Paracelsus, but it’s a lovely evening, and no-one objects to walking a bit to find a decent meal. One of the endless benefits of going to school in New York City, of course, is the famed sleeplessness of the city. Alex perks up as the cool evening air wakes him from the somnolence of a too-long class, and rediscovers his interest in life. 

So Angelica isn’t his soulmate. That’s - actually, probably for the best. Now that he’s thinking about the situation with clearer eyes, it’s obvious they would never have worked out well. They’re both too driven, too competitive, and Alex has the sneaking suspicion he would never have been able to win enough to satisfy either of them. Angelica needs a challenge as much as he does, but they wouldn’t have been the right challenge for one another. 

So, one classmate down, and an impossible number to go. He’s got too much to do to allow himself to be distracted all the time by soulmates. He’s going to have to be more disciplined, more focused. The last thing he wants is to wind up the winner of Jefferson’s secret pool to see who’ll be first out. 

Meridian walks directly in front of Alex’s feet, on purpose, and his frantic footwork to keep from stepping on the little beast sends Alex stumbling into Laurens with a crash. He’d have wound up on the pavement if Laurens hadn’t caught him by the arm, righting him with apparent ease. 

“I’d thank you, if it weren’t entirely your cat’s fault in the first place,” Alex says sourly. Laurens doesn’t seem to be paying much attention.

“That’s fine,” he says absently. Laurens is looking hard at someone outside their group - a tall, sturdily built person in a dark jacket and a grey beanie, who seems to be following them at a distance. 

“Friend of yours?” Alex asks. Laurens shakes his head. 

“No,” he says slowly. “We haven’t talked or anything, but I’ve seen him around before. He hangs around the edges of campus at night, a lot of the time.”

“Wandering the streets at night, are you?” Alex asks, trying to lighten the mood; Laurens just nods absently. 

“I’m pretty sure he’s a wizard,” Laurens says conversationally, just as though that were a normal thing to be. “He’s got the marks of magic, and he’s certainly not an enchanter.”

Illegal magic, like other trouble, is often easier to find in darkness. Alex shakes his head, pulling Laurens ahead to catch up with the rest of their group. “You shouldn’t go messing around with those sorts of people,” Alex warns. “Unlicensed magic? There’s no knowing what he might have done, or what he could be capable of.”

“Oh, I know,” Laurens says. 

A little shiver goes up the back of Alex’s neck at the dark certainty in those words. He’s missing something here, he knows, because Laurens doesn’t sound at all as if he’s planning to be careful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I'm going about this slowly, my ducks. I suddenly had to tear apart an entire bathroom and try to remodel it, which is eating into my writing time in horrible ways, but progress is being made! Floors are retiled, plumbing is, uh, plumbed? I don't know words. Anyway, so it goes, and soon writing can be a higher priority again!
> 
> Anyway, hope you're enjoying the read! What a cool kind of world to get to build, and I have Plans for what's to come that I think you guys are going to enjoy. Well, i hope you will, at any rate! Thank you so very much for your kindness and encouragement, you lovely people! All my fond best wishes - Kivrin.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey, kids! OK, yes, I KNOW I haven't finished my current story yet, and here I am starting another. And yes, I KNOW I've already written a college AU. But you know what? Screw it. I've been developing this one for a while, and today is my birthday, and I spent long enough in the Hobbit fandom to know that one gives gifts on one's birthday, so here we go.
> 
> Welcome to a little project I call "Kivrin continues to wreck havoc on tropes." This month being the benighted time when Valentine's Day vomits pink hearts and glitter all over us, I thought it might be nice to turn to the delightful little trope of soulmates, and ruin it for you. Well, hey, who knows how it'll go? Maybe it'll be all sunshine and daisies all the way through!
> 
> You guys know me by now (and if you don't, and you're new to my insanity, a hearty WELCOME and thanks to you for reading!), and can probably guess that I've got a few things going on in this story. I'm being a bit vague with the tagging at the moment because I cannot stand giving the entire plot away in the tags; we'll catch up as we go. I'll do my best to warn before anything that seems like a potential trigger. 
> 
> Thank you so very much for reading, and I hope you'll take a moment to comment. There's little more joyful than engaging with you all in the comments, and it's absolutely the most wonderful gift you can give a writer. So much love to you all, and I very much hope you enjoy!


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